


time goes by so slowly

by skitty_titty



Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Character Study, Gen, the Vulgar Mouth of a Teenager
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-22 10:20:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17057981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skitty_titty/pseuds/skitty_titty
Summary: when does a child become an adult?or: a twist on what really happens when the power runs out.





	time goes by so slowly

**Author's Note:**

> warnings:   
>  -lots of swearing (and i mean, like. he says 'fuck' in every other sentence)  
> -talks of stuffing

when does a child become an adult?

in the eyes of the law, there are set dates for set things. in the eyes of others, it varies; appearance, attitudes, behaviour, everything ties together into one great mess of an Adult.=

there are some who grow old and wrinkled but remain kids at heart forever. but they’re adults, aren’t they? they’d be killed in this vicious pizzeria, wouldn’t they?

thoughts like this are what make mike’s job hard. questioning everything to the extremes has always been a strong point of his. that being said, he hardly doubts he’s deserving of wondering which of his friends and family would be killed and which would have to  _ watch _ , but his mind likes to run away before he manages to catch it.

  
  


3am: 47% power (it’s a monday). 

bonnie peeks in to say hello but mike’s reflexes are faster than ever and he slams that ‘CLOSE’ button down before it can even begin to scream. the blue-stained-purple tips of its ears can just be seen through the window, creating long shadows across mike’s office. 

mike sighs. he’s terrified of these creatures, and he’s not. 

they’re predictable, after a couple of weeks. when they manage to sneak up on you, they’re still scary; but it’s just a quick jump before you remember your reality. mike, of course, tells them to fuck off and continues with whatever he was doing, which probably involved glancing at cameras and holding a staring contest with the plushies that litter his desk. he has no idea where they come from but he stopped binning them after the first three days. it seems that they’re here to stay.

  
  


4am: 29% power (it’s a wednesday).

foxy’s snout is poking out of its cove. funny, with foxy; it’s always harder to say it instead of ‘him’. it is mike’s favourite, which he’s found to be a reoccurring theme. it’s his favourite because it leaves him alone, mostly. only really bothers to be a pain on the days when it feels like it. yes, it’s unpredictable but half the time foxy is a lazy bastard and,  _ god _ , if mike doesn’t admire him for it.

not long now, is it? not long until he can go?

he flicks up the cameras again. freddy remains in solitary on the stage, its two band members taking to harassment. mike wonders if he could file a lawsuit if he had enough evidence, then he remembers how that went for everyone else and he derails the train of thought. so much for getting rich and blowing this town, he supposes.

  
  


5am, 5% power (it’s a friday).

ah, it’s chimes. so beautiful, so tragic, holding the fate of the world within its twinkling notes. the music box within its chest seems to grow faster and faster, but mike can barely hear it anymore, not with the loud THUMP THUMP of his own heart. 

the music stops. 

everything is so dark, so quiet. the constant sound of the fan is no more, and even the alarm clock he had placed on the desk no longer flashes its red numbers. nothing is visible, nothing but those eyes, blue and white, illuminated like flashing neon; mike can almost see the countdown.  
  


 

he waits and he waits but it never comes. after so long has passed, he expects to find it’s the end of his shift and he had miraculously managed to survive.

that’s not the case.

uncurling his body from his chair, cautiously opening his eyes, he sees Freddy Fazbear itself standing there, watching. it’s utterly unnerving, to say the least. 

_ i’m supposed to be dead _ , mike thinks.  _ what the fuck is going on? _

there’s no response, obviously. he decides to try his luck.

“uhh, hey. buddy.” he starts. if his voice shakes a little, no one needs to call attention to it. the bear certainly seems not to mind; doesn’t even move as he speaks. “you good?”

god, what is he fucking thinking? asking the bear— which wants to kill him! he might add!— whether its fucking okay. he’s not only a dumbass for taking this job, but he’s a fool who’s got too big of a heart, a fool who’s willing to humanise and empathise with the thing that was seconds away from dragging his by his lanky fucking arms and stuffing him into a bear (ha) trap. 

there’s no response, even after a couple of seconds. mike’s too scared to try again.

if he waits long enough, the bell will go. the end of his shift will come. he will be free again.  
  


it’s a few minutes to go when the bear has had enough of observing. it doesn’t move, doesn’t even breathe (obviously, mike, it’s a fucking animatronic). instead, it speaks, but it’s clear that it’s no recorded message.

“Michael Schmidt, age sixteen,” it says. its voice is just as clear as it is in the performances, if not clearer. the static that usually hides at the edges is nowhere to be seen. “Born March 12th, 1977. Travels to work via Walk. Earns $120.00 per week.”

“what the fuck.” mike whispers under his breath. at this, Freddy Fazbear seems to glare a little, his eyes becoming just a little brighter, before it fades again; forgiven. “how’d you know that shit?”

“You Are A Child,” it says now. “We Do Not Harm Children.”

what do you even say to that? some part of mike wants to argue that he’s an  _ adult, damn it _ , but he advises himself against it right now. he’ll let it slide.

“Bonnie Says: We shall continue to play! Until you’re ready! To join us!” Freddy adds. that raises a whole new load of questions, since mike cannot see bonnie at all. 

he’s so fucking ready for the clock to strike six.

it does, thankfully. Freddy stands up tall and walks back to his place on the centre stage. mike watches him do so through the cameras. he flops back in his ratty desk chair, just breathing to himself. in and out, in and out; a steady beat that resembles something of normalcy.

  
  


in the eyes of the law, you transform magically; sixteen, eighteen, twenty-one, whatever. in the eyes of others, it depends on how old they need you to be.

in the eyes of Freddy Fazbear and Crew, the Nightguard is not ready. they’ll know when he is.

They always do.  
  



End file.
